Braden knew it was wrong. Completely wrong. Yet he couldn’t help but be grateful for the crazed situation that forced Ilisa to sit at his side, smiling at him.

The great hall was filled to the brim that night. Long trestle tables and benches lined the floor with the high table on a raised dais at the far end where Lord Graham and his special guests sat. A fire burned brightly in the hearth and ale was being served.

The boisterous mood of the guests made the conversation loud. He’d heard the retelling of the events of the final two sparring competitions too often already and the night was young.

Ilisa looked especially lovely. Her plum-colored kirtle made her skin even more beautiful. She’d left her hair loose, something unwed ladies rarely did.

But she was now married.

To him.

That thought, along with the memory of their kiss earlier, had him shifting on the hard bench. His desire for her had only increased in the days since they’d left Berwick. He admired the strength she’d shown during this unusual situation. Her courage to face the man who’d ordered her and her family’s death would be admirable for a man, let alone a young woman. She’d already endured so much, and though no end was in sight to her family’s plight, she found the determination to accompany him on this mission.

He’d had a stilted conversation with Alec as they’d walked to the stables earlier, wanting the boy to know he wasn’t playing with his sister’s affections. But what was he doing? It had been difficult to explain, so he’d settled with saying that he respected Ilisa and Alec and valued their friendship.

Alec had nodded, yet based on the way his eyes had narrowed as he’d stared at Braden, he wasn’t certain he’d allayed the boy’s concerns. Or even if Alec had them.

“Do you suppose the empty chair at the high table is for the daughter?” Ilisa asked, keeping her voice low.

“If so, where is she?”

“I wonder if ’tis her choice to remain tucked away or her father’s?”

Braden considered her question. “Difficult to say. If she appears, mayhap we’ll learn more about their relationship.”

Ilisa nodded. “I confess, I’m curious to meet her.”

“As am I. After what Matthew said, I have to believe the rumors are true, and she’ll be the prize for the champion.”

“Only if her father approves of whoever wins. Do you think he likes this day’s winner?” Ilisa’s gaze shifted toward the head table once again.

Braden followed her gaze. Graham had invited the knight who’d won the sparring tournament to join him at the high table for the feast. The lord’s expression revealed little of his thoughts as he spoke with the younger man. “I would venture to say he’s biding his time to see who wins the next one. No doubt the jousting champion will be invited to do the same. The final day will be the melee.”

“What does that entail?”

“It depends on how Graham chooses to hold it. The melee normally ends the tournament. It might be an all-out mock battle, or teams might be assigned. Sir Matthew could probably tell you.” He frowned at the man in question.

Ilisa glanced at Braden, her brow raised at his tone. “Whatever does that mean?”

“You seem to like him well enough.”

Before she could reply, the crowd quieted, drawing their notice. Lord Graham rose, a rare smile on his face. Even Lady Graham appeared pleased. Braden turned to look at what had caught their attention.

A finely dressed young lady stood at the entrance of the great hall, the stiffness of her body suggesting how uncomfortable she was.

Lord Graham raised his goblet, and the hall quieted. “May I introduce my daughter, Lady Arabela. Wishing her much happiness in the years to come.”

The guests lifted their cups as well. “To Lady Arabela,” someone called out.

With a tight smile and a nod, the woman acknowledged the introduction before walking across the hall to take the empty chair beside her mother.

The puzzled expression on Ilisa’s face caught Braden’s notice. “What is it?”

“Unless Lady Arabela has a sister, that is the same woman I met in the stables.”

Braden studied the lady more closely. “I thought you said that woman was a villager.”

“She didn’t say as much, but based on her clothes, I assumed that to be true.”

“Interesting.” Lady Arabela sat with perfect posture, a distant expression on her face. There was a coolness to her demeanor that set her apart from everyone.

“She doesn’t appear pleased to be here, but if I were on display, I wouldn’t be either,” Ilisa said.

“A difficult situation for her no doubt. How fortunate that you befriended her before you knew who she was. Mayhap you’ll be able to further the friendship. She might know something of use to us.”

“I hate to use her that way as it seems like she could use a friend, but I’ll see what I can do.” Ilisa was drawn into conversation with the person who sat on the other side of her.

Alec arrived to serve them. While the guests at the head table ate on silver plates, the rest were given trenchers made of bread. Alec set one between Braden and Ilisa to share.

“I nearly forgot,” Ilisa said after greeting her brother. “How is your horse faring?”

Braden stilled, hoping Alec hadn’t taken notice of how quickly his steed’s lame leg had gotten better.

Alec shook his head. “I don’t understand it. ’Twas as if one moment, his leg was hurt but the next, no more.”

Ilisa frowned. “How do you mean?”

The lad smiled at Braden. “Sir Hugh ran his hand slowly along its leg to check and after only a moment’s pause, the horse acted as though nothing was wrong.”

Ilisa narrowed her eyes as she looked at Braden. “Truly?”

Braden couldn’t bring himself to meet her gaze. Instead, he lifted a shoulder casually. “He must’ve caught a rock in his shoe. I appreciate Alec bringing it to my attention.”

Alec smiled as if pleased by his praise.

Braden nodded, relieved when further discussion was interrupted by a trail of servants bearing massive platters of food. Venison that had been roasted over the fire along with chicken, carrots and onions, braised kale, baskets of cherries, and pears seasoned with nutmeg were paraded before the guests and Lord Graham. After the lord nodded his approval, those at the head table were served first followed by the other guests.

Tall vessels of wine imported from France were offered as well, and no one’s cup was left empty.

Alec served them, closely watching the other squires and following their movements. Braden was impressed at how quickly he learned.

After sugared dates and mulled wine were served, Lord Graham rose, his goblet in hand. “Congratulations to Sir James, the day’s champion.” After the cheers quieted, he added, “Preparations for jousting will be held on the morrow with the tournament on the following day. We wish all the competitors much luck.”

Braden noted that though Lord James, the sparring winner, spoke briefly to Lady Arabela, Lord Graham seemed disinclined to allow the pair to visit overlong. Did that mean the lord didn’t care for him or merely that he was waiting for the overall champion to be determined before he allowed his daughter to become acquainted with any of the men?

“Can you try to speak with her again?” Braden asked Ilisa. “The more you befriend her the better.”

Ilisa sighed, her gaze on the lady. “I’ll try.” Ilisa rose and walked to the head table, but as she approached, Lord Graham turned to Arabela and said something.

She nodded, eyes downcast, stepped down from the dais and quickly left the room before Ilisa had the chance to catch her notice.

Ilisa watched her go but turned back to the table and said something to Lady Graham. Though the lady’s response appeared cool at first, Ilisa continued speaking, going so far as to reach out and touch the lady’s hand.

Within a few short moments, the lady seemed to have succumbed to Ilisa’s charm. When his wife chose to, she could win over anyone.

Including him.

 

~*~

 

Ilisa scowled, suspicion filling her, as she walked through the portcullis to the lists which had been set up for jousting the next morn. She’d seen Braden and Alec striding out of the gate, Alec practically skipping with excitement, and decided to follow.

Several of the other ladies had gathered under tall open-sided tents to watch the practice. Already servants were setting up platforms for those watching the competition on the morrow. Rather than join the ladies, she waved but walked toward the end of the lists closest to where Braden and Alec were.

Braden was speaking to her brother intently, and when he pointed toward the quintain, the pole that stood in the middle of the lists erected to practice jousting, Ilisa knew her suspicions were correct.

After a glance down the lists to be certain an oncoming horse wouldn’t trample her, she marched to where the pair stood.

“What are you about?” she demanded, not bothering to hide her displeasure.

Braden straightened, a single brow raised. “Teaching my squire to joust.”

Alec shifted nervously, looking everywhere but at her.

“Your squire doesn’t need to learn to joust.” She glanced about to make sure no one could overhear their conversation. “He’s not a real squire, nor does he intend to be one.”

Braden reached out to take her hand in his. “While we’re here, he is my squire. His duties include learning the art of jousting.”

She waited, almost expecting him to comment on a wife’s duties. Apparently, her expression had him thinking better of it, for he said nothing more.

“Ilisa,” Alec began.

Both she and Braden turned to glare at him.

“Or rather, Lady Cairstine, I asked to learn more about it.”

Ilisa didn’t want to hear that.

Before she could respond, he continued, “Many of the other squires are already quite accomplished at jousting.”

She tugged her hand from Braden’s, her emotions tumbling. “Alec, there are many other things you can do. You don’t have to become a knight. We’ve discussed this before.”

“Aye, but I might change my mind.” He glanced at Braden. “Sir Hugh has shown me a different side of knighthood.”

Her stomach tightened. She didn’t want to hear that either.

“How can I make a wise choice when I don’t have all the knowledge to do so?” At last he looked at her, his expression willing her to understand.

“A choice.” That was something few had. Lady Arabela came to mind. Then again, few women did. Alec’s comment made Ilisa wonder at her own decision. Had she made it because she truly believed taking her vows was for the best or had she decided to do so because she didn’t think another path was open to her? That was a question for another day.

“I don’t want to disappoint William when he’s released by becoming anything less than what he’d expect,” Alec said.

“I understand, but I don’t want you to base your decision on what you think William would want.”

“I won’t. But for now, I would like to try my hand at the quintain.” His gaze focused on the pole.

One arm of it held a stuffed cloth bag. As she watched, a knight galloped toward the device, a lance tucked under his arm. He leaned forward as he drew near, striking the cloth bag and sending it swinging. The successful pass meant the cloth bag didn’t swing around the pole and strike the knight in the back.

While it would hurt if Alec failed in this endeavor, practicing with the quintain wouldn’t be fatal. She supposed that was as much as she could ask, for now.

She placed her hand on her brother’s shoulder, suddenly realizing the boy who’d followed her and Sophia about was nearly gone. In his place, a young man stood, wise beyond his years. He’d endured far too much in his short life. Who was she to deny him what he wanted?

“If this is truly what you’d like to do...” She waited, giving him the chance to deny it.

“My thanks.” He grinned at her. “With Sir Hugh at my side, I think it will be good fun.”

The response had her scowling once more. “Your definition of fun is far different from mine.”

“You’ve forgotten the meaning of fun,” Alec teased.

Though she smiled, her heart squeezed. He was right. If someone asked her to share something fun she might like to do, she’d be at a loss. Rather than admitting Alec was right, she looked at Braden. “You’ll take great care with him?”

Braden took her hand once more. “You have my oath.” The sincerity in his eyes convinced her even more than his words.

“Be prepared for my wrath if anything happens to him. And I mean anything.”

Alec laughed, but Braden understood she meant what she said.

Still, Braden smiled. “Nothing will happen.”

With a resigned sigh, she studied the lance lying on the ground near Braden then looked at his horse. “Has he fully recovered from his lameness?”

An odd expression came over Braden’s face as he patted his horse’s neck. Suddenly, she remembered not so very long ago when he’d helped her see to the mare at St. Mary’s soon after he, Garrick and Chanse had arrived in Berwick. Her leg had been swollen and hot to the touch. Ilisa knew as she’d examined the horse herself. But soon after Braden had checked on her, the heat and swelling had disappeared. So quickly that Ilisa had wondered if she’d imagined the injury.

The same look had come over Braden’s expression then as well. Yet no reasonable explanation for any of that came to mind.

“The horse is well. But is Alec ready?” He chucked her brother on his shoulder.

Alec smiled again. “Of course. I am anxious to try.”

“What’s the first step?” Ilisa asked, trying to focus on the details rather than the idea of her brother galloping full tilt for the cloth sack that could easily swing around to strike hard enough to unseat him. That was still a better alternative than true jousting, she supposed.

“For you to watch safely from the side of the list.” Braden made the suggestion with a grin.

Acting more like a brother than a squire, Alec took her arm and turned her toward where she’d come from. “I’ll do far better if you’re not standing next to me frowning.”

She relented, making her way to the side, still displeased with the pair of them. As she watched, she could see that Braden was an excellent teacher. His patience seemed endless as he showed Alec how to hold the lance, to tuck it tight against his side from a standing position, adjusting it several times, before he tried holding it while mounted on the horse.

Ilisa was far too restless to speak to the other ladies though she felt the weight of their stares. She couldn’t very well explain that her husband’s squire was in truth her brother, and that was the reason for her concern for his safety. Paying the ladies no heed as they were some distance away, she continued to watch, her heart in her throat as Alec at last mounted the horse, and Braden handed him the lance.

Once he rode around with it to get used to the weight and balance, he ran toward the quintain but stayed wide of it, as though just testing the idea of striking the target.

On the next pass, he raised his lance and aimed at the cloth bag only to miss. In fact, he missed several times. Ilisa had to hold back her laughter at his antics. The process was quite entertaining. Obviously, jousting was even more difficult than it looked.

Alec’s shoulders slumped as if he’d all but given up on being able to strike the quintain. He slid from the horse, his head hanging low. Did he fear he’d disappointed Braden?

Braden placed a hand on her brother’s shoulder and turned him to face the device, gesturing as he spoke. Ilisa was curious what he might be telling Alec.

Then Braden got on his horse, mounting with the ease of long practice, making her realize once again how tall and strong he was. Alec handed him the lance, which he tucked under his bad shoulder. Ilisa’s breath caught in her throat.

Braden galloped to the far end of the lists then turned his horse, his focus obvious even from this distance. He wore no mail, no protection of any sort, only his tunic. He and his horse moved as one. ’Twas impossible to tell if he used the reins at all to direct his horse. The steed picked up speed as it drew near the target. Braden leaned forward, lifting the lance higher under his arm, laying it across his horse.

Ilisa gasped as he struck the bag, sending it spinning wildly. He cleared the quintain well before the bag spun around. If she hadn’t been watching so closely, she might’ve missed his hesitation as he lowered the lance and straightened.

Yet as he turned to ride back to Alec, he grinned. No doubt his shoulder still pained him, but he obviously enjoyed the challenge.

“Your husband has quite the talent for jousting.”

Ilisa turned to see Lady Arabela at her side. She was dressed in a rich blue kirtle, embroidery gracing the neckline and sleeves. She shifted the sides of the gown as though uncomfortable in the fine attire. The girdle upon her hips was more modest than the jeweled one she’d worn the previous evening, as was the small knife it held.

“And handsome too,” she added with a smile as she looked at Ilisa. “You’re a lucky woman.”

“Indeed, I am.” Ilisa’s gaze was drawn back to Braden. He’d returned to Alec’s side, tossed him the lance then slid off his horse with ease. She hesitated, wondering how best to engage the lady in conversation now that she knew her identity.

“I know ’tis none of my business but was yours an arranged marriage or a love match?”

Ilisa was startled by the bluntness of her question. “I suppose you could say that due to unusual circumstances, we chose each other.”

Arabela smiled. “You’re very lucky.” She held Ilisa’s gaze. “I hope you’ll forgive me for being less than honest when we first met.”

“Of course.” Ilisa understood her reasons for not revealing her full name. She paused, wondering how much she dare say. While Ilisa felt a connection to Arabela and sensed she needed a friend, they were little more than strangers.

How unfortunate that Ilisa was here under false pretenses as well. True friendships couldn’t form when one party lied to the other.

But Arabela’s father wanted Ilisa dead. That fact prevailed over everything else, including friendship, and changed what Ilisa was willing to do.

“I can understand why you want to escape for a time, however briefly. I’m certain your father has high expectations for you and your marriage.”

For a moment, Ilisa feared she’d overstepped the bounds of propriety.

“Did you ever feel the need to escape?” Arabela’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“Aye. Frequently.”

The lady closed her eyes briefly then blinked back tears when she opened them. “’Tis reassuring to think I’m not alone in that.”

“Will your husband truly be selected by the end of the tournament?” Ilisa watched Arabela’s expression.

“Aye. I will have no say in it.” The tremor in her voice spoke of her angst.

“Lord Graham seems to have special plans for you and whoever you marry. Do you know what they are?” Though she was only guessing based on what they knew of the Sentinels and the importance her father seemed to place on her marriage, she had to try to see if Arabela would share what that meant.

Arabela scoffed. “He has plans not only for me but all of Scotland.”

Ilisa stared at her in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve said more than I should’ve. I must go. Mother will be wondering where I’ve gone.” Arabela reached out to squeeze Ilisa’s arm. “Thank you for your kindness. I appreciate it more than I can say.”

She turned and hurried back toward the gate.

Ilisa stared after her, torn between empathy for the woman’s impossible situation and running after her to demand more information.

What did Arabela’s soon-to-be husband have to do with Scotland’s future? She turned to watch Braden, anxious to hear what he thought of the information she’d just learned.